I've reportedly been drinking decaffeinated coffee at work. I say "reportedly" because that's the word journalists use to hedge their reporting in the face of unbelievably horrific news.

A colleague innocently pointed out to me that the drum of coffee I've been shoveling from is neutered coffee. I received the news with the level of excitement and anticipation I felt when non-alcoholic beers were introduced. A part of my soul died.

I had begun drinking more and more coffee throughout the day, losing track of how many times I filled her up. But no matter how much I consumed, I never achieved that jittery rush that could make me short-tempered with co-workers and co-loved ones until my buzz burst reducing me to a fetal position under my desk. God, I missed that feeling.

More delicately, my coffee runs also led to many daily pit-stops. I worked in fear my colleagues thought I had a bladder glitch or merely was acting my age. All that private work was for naught, too.

Day in and day out, I was just downing and drowning in one placebo after another.

I dare Maturity to go a day or a week or a month without real coffee at work. Let's see how mature Maturity is then.

See we just need for a few small things to go right in life because the larger things, if left to their own compass, can go wrong and break our hearts. And when this happens, you need a little comfort, a little something to go right.